Growing Up and Other Tall Tales

Chapter 70

I wake to the doorbell.

My eyes skim over to my side to glance at my alarm when I realized that I am not in bed. I almost sit up before registering the weight on my chest and the ache in my back. Comprehension and stiffness assault me all at once making me stifle a very loud, obnoxious groan.

Lyra is still asleep on my chest, clearly exhausted by the mental somersaults she did last night and she only shifts, nuzzling further into my neck, warm breath blowing up and down strokes along the nape. I nudge her over to my side so I can slide out from under her and replace me with one of the cushions. She yawns loudly and I freeze.

I don't want to wake her up, not after she had tried so hard to get a few hours of shut eye. And whoever is at the door has got to calm the fuck down, I steel my nerves to pacify aggression so early in the morning.

I escape from being trapped under Lyra and crouch next to her in mid stagger to watch her confusedly (but still asleep) grope underneath her frowning (but still asleep) when she finds nothing. Her fingers find the cushion and I hurriedly stuff another next to it. Contentment skates over her face as she curls into it sighing still asleep. I grip the edge of the coffee table and breathed out soundlessly.

Ah fuck, I've got to wash the mugs.

The doorbell rings again and this time so insistently that whoever it is presses on hard for a solid thirty seconds.

"Fucking hell—" I tug on the handle and the door opens with a ding

Nick stands on the other side fuming. His hand raised to ring the bell again; he lowers it sheepishly but the determination on his face doesn't dissipate the slightest. I blink at him groggily.

"What?" I hiss

He doesn't look any better than me. Hair uncombed, shirt askew and creased, the laces of his shoes untied, he looks like a millennial. He pushes in past me and I let him in mumbling under my breath and shutting the door behind us.

"I woke up to find a missed call from you," he turns on me abruptly making me reel back a few steps, "The plug by the couch—"

"—has to be tightened for it to work," I recite tiredly and stuffed a hand in my hair, undoubtedly ruining it further

Nick's forehead creases further as he sets down the guilty looking phone on the table. I lean against one of the pillars rubbing a sore spot on the slope of my shoulder and begin to explain,

"She had one of her nightmares," Nick bristles and I continue, "It was fine. I made her tea and we went to sleep."

Nick looks at me thoughtfully and shrugs, "She calmed down after that?"

I raise my hands equal parts defensive and too weary to continue fighting with him. He watches me carefully and grudging acceptance slithers into his countenance like he believes me. I close my eyes.

Nick slumps against the pillar facing opposite mine and rubs his temples, "I can't believe I didn't pick up,"

I look at him because we both know that Lyra, she understands. Nick looks at me with a wistful melancholia, making his face look aged and hoary and I know what he is thinking: she's too damn good for us. His head falls back into his hands.

"She knows," I tell him

Nick picks up his head and looks at me through the fingers covering his face. Pushing himself off the wall, he walks up to me. Tensing up immediately, my fingers fold into a hard fist inside my pocket.

"Where is she?" he asks tilting his head, the softness returning to his eyes. My fingers relax.

So that is how Nick and I spent our Saturday morning: Lyra's legs on my lap and her head on Nick's. The Saturday Morning movie special was Jimmy Neutron and Nick contentedly sits there with his hand stroking Lyra's hair and little chuckles erupting from him as he enjoy the film. I divide my attention between the T.V, my phone and Lyra's ankle bone that I couldn't help tracing. Nick begins talking to me and I reply and we fall into easy conversation. It isn't like I've known him forever or something as clichéd, but we get along and it could be the start of something nice. He tells me about how Mr. Fox divorced for the third time and I comment that Mrs. Yoon hasn't aged a day since I've gone to school. We talk about Coach and exchange funny locker room memories and how much we hate and love the mud and the sweat. Nick is just as much of an adrenaline junkie as I am. Chasing a high that is a delicate and easily frightened mistress.

Lyra wakes up a little after that and I think it's to the sound of laughter.

"Isn't this cosy?" she grumbles and shifts, turns, and then finally stretches out between us and sits up.

"What time is it?" she asks sleepily, hair in her face and her thumb shoved into her eyes

It's amazing how everything snaps out of Nick's scope of attention and Lyra becomes the destination of a severely and dangerously one track mind. He sits on his knee so he can tug the hair out of Lyra's face so she can look at him. She blinks and then blinks some more before hugging him tightly. Her leg slips out from my lap and I smile at how relieved she is.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry about what happened. I forgot you have to tighten—and it's no excuse but I—"

"It's alright. It's Saturday and I've got my boys." she smiles at me over Nick's shoulder and I look away trying to hide my own smirk. It seems like it's going to be our secret.

"Thank you," she mouths at me and I don't think she entirely recollects what happened last night and I'm glad she doesn't remember me being a flurry mess of panic and uncertainty scrambling onto anything that might help. But then she continues. "Thank you for bringing me back."

My chest thuds and I feel beats leaking out of my ribcage and pumping hard in my ears. "Thank you for staying." I mouth back and she smiles. A cautious, exploratory smile. The same one she gave me at the hospital. The high licks at my side making me twitch. And I think there is nothing between high heaven and hell that can keep me from seeing it again.